Three Poems by Lindsay D’Andrea

 

 

 

[terroir]

what is
the name for sudden
exhaustion   enough  ignored
the names for stone hiding in wine
flint  mineral   tell me what grows together
goes together   fingers attempt
not to dream of your hair   the reasons
a body fights itself when illness has little
to do with it   a view
of telephone wire preserved in memory
jogged contour  speed draws lines
going someplace   or
the name for frequency
of deaths   every cell unbecoming
myself no longer mine   the ease
with which i contain what’s left
in you   like the impossibility
of oceans   places that smell most like
salt   what is the name of the sorrow
that signals how far we travel noticing nothing
the taste of purple flowers    soapy thought
refusing to get clean   that stupid
hat you wear   i don’t care
about names   precision   what’s-it-called
after all   my math forever
unreliable   i’ll keep record of these
grievances   never speak them
aloud    when you ask
what’s on my tongue   where it comes from
the very vine   the anguish
grassy slopes   clay   type of sheep
grazing   among the answers
landscapes unseen   nothing i’ll claim
to search for   yes   nothing
you’ll ever find

 

 

terroir [tar/war]

the best grape grows
in cooler climates  pretending
sweetness   what use is memory
faced with layer after layer
of silt   these are facts   acidity
feels like acidity   can be nothing
else   did bacchus know
we would buckle down study pages
work threaded stories to blank
labels   beat words to vine
dancefloors ignored
by scared men   why chase vintage
why   year after year   some cleaner
than others   stern nose in glass
answers stark as sentences
let’s call it a hobby   a game
chess piece crossing old territory
inspecting ground   blight   varietal
a chill barely detectable   definitive
excellence   learn insult is arable
agree to disagree   one day it must pay off

 

 

terroir [terror]

i’ve inherited a list of should   should-nots   guess
the difference between two    chalk and limestone
red fruit or dark   forget the tongue as map   dumb muscle
distracted   whole histories repressed   overqualified
chemical grape   nothing so lovely smells of petrol
guess the difference   one wine pretends oak  toasted woodchips
unearned bark   no rock or stream or story   barreled
insincerity    it’s only a guess if you don’t know   so    know
soften your voice for strangers   turn servant in back laughing
understand the orchid in its acid-home   petaled trap to trick the bee
shake off places i come from   carry new awe against my will
heart squeezed to purple turnip   build a catalogue of notes   every word
stands in for blood   i refuse to admit lines crossed  common ground
overlapping grey   refusal alone gives the ending away

 

 

 

Lindsay D’Andrea is a graduate of Iowa State University’s MFA program for creative writing and environment. Her poetry and fiction has been published in Flyway, The Greensboro Review, Fiddleblack, and InDigest Magazine, among others. She currently lives in the Boston area.

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